A Helping Hand
by Mercutio's Ghost
Summary: When a terrible tragedy strikes, Celeborn becomes consumed by guilt and flees from Doriath. By chance, he saves Galadriel's life. Can she convince him to return to those who care about him? Less stupid title coming soon.
1. Chapter One

DISCLAIMER: With the exception of a few insignificant minor characters, none of this is mine.  Please don't sue.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, it's another cheesy rendition of the Celeborn/Galadriel story, but there's also lots of action, adventure, drama, and even a bit of comedy.  Most of my stuff tends to be pretty well rounded.  Pour a glass of wine with that cheese and start reading.

Chapter One

The sound of three merry voices filled the air of the edges of the forest just outside the walls of Menegroth, capital city of the fair country of Doriath.  In times like these, it was rare occurrence to hear sounds of joy.  Their happiness stemmed from their recent triumph over Morgoth, the Great Enemy of Middle-earth.  Morgoth was not yet defeated, but his enemies emerged victorious from a crucial battle.  However, there was more to this victory than coming out on top.  It gave the free peoples of Middle-earth hope.  Morgoth was powerful, but not invincible.  Their success in the battle proved that they could also be triumphant in the war against him.

            "So what happens now?" inquired one of the three.  She was Luthien, daughter of Thingol, King of Doriath.  She was an Elf, beautiful beyond words, and stories of her loveliness would be told throughout the ages.

            One of her two companions, Beren, the son of Barahir, spoke the reply.  "It is difficult to say," he answered.  "This was a critical victory for our cause.  Now that it has been shown that Morgoth is not invulnerable, it will be a great inspiration for the peoples of Middle-earth."  Beren's father, Barahir, had recently been slain in the war against the Enemy.  Beren himself had almost fallen alongside his father, but Finrod, ruler of the mighty Elven kingdom of Nargothrond, had taken the deadly arrow meant for him, sacrificing himself for the human.

            "Someday, we will triumph over all evil," added the final member of their trio, an Elf by the name of Celeborn.  "Our recent accomplishment proves this goal is not unfeasible."

            Luthien's dark head nodded.  "Let us hope so."

            They walked in silence for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow of the recent victory.  Celeborn soon decided to depart from their presence, as he sensed an unspoken desire from Luthien to be alone with Beren.  He and Luthien had been raised together.  She was not his sister, but they considered themselves siblings, and she may as well have been.  He could read her thoughts as if they were his own.  "I think I shall go over to the palace and make sure plans for the next assault on Morgoth are in order," he said, speaking the first excuse that came to mind.  "Please excuse me."

            Beren turned to Luthien as Celeborn left their company.  "'Plans for the next assault'?" he repeated.

            Luthien just smiled.

            Beren smiled, too, as he was filled with comprehension.  "There are no plans for the next assault, are there?"

            She didn't answer.  Instead, she turned her body so she was facing him and put her hands on his shoulders.  They held each other's gaze for a few seconds, then kissed.

            A noise from behind interrupted their moment.  It was snapping sound, like a twig had been stepped on.  But instead of a twig, it sounded more like a tree.  Beren drew his sword from its sheath and stepped in front of Luthien.  "Stay behind me," he instructed.

            Luthien was not unarmed.  A blade hung at her belt, crafted by her race so it was as light as it was strong.  She withdrew the weapon from its holding and held it, ready to attack if called upon.  A deep sense of foreboding filled the Elf.  Something evil was nearby; she could feel it.  Beren was a mighty warrior, and she herself was not one to be trifled with, but she had the feeling that even their combined skills could not easily defeat this unseen foe.

            "We cannot do this alone," Luthien whispered.  "We need help.  We have to get inside Menegroth."

            The walls of her city were less than a hundred feet away, but Beren did not think it wise to move.  If they did, it would attract attention to themselves.  "Don't move," he whispered back.  "Stay as still as you can."

            For a full minute, they were as statues, frozen in time.  The air was as silent as death.  Finally, Beren hissed through clenched teeth, "Run!"

            She didn't need to be told twice.  She took off at full sprint toward the walls, Beren right behind her.  At that moment, a giant beast leapt out of the forest.  It resembled a wolf, but it was three times the size of an ordinary wolf.  Flames leapt from its nostrils, eyes, and mouth.  Not even the light could defend them from this demon; its thick black coat protected it from the rays of the sun.  It spotted its prey, then charged.

            Thinking fast, Beren grabbed Luthien and threw himself on top of her, causing both of them to fall to the ground.  The wolf did not have enough time to stop and ran over the top of them.  As it did, Beren took his sword and shoved the blade into the creature's belly.  It howled in pain, then turned to face the one who dared to attack it.

Beren stood, his sword black and dripping from the wolf's blood.  The beast did not wait to charge him again.  It leapt over Luthien, and its great paws landed on Beren's shoulders, knocking him over with the force.  Beren dropped his sword in the fall, but still had his wit to aid in his defense.  He rolled to the side and out from under the wolf's legs.  Once free, he struggled to his feet.  However, his demonic foe kept coming, and quickly had him pinned on the ground once again.

Beren struggled to keep the wolf's flaming jaws away from his throat.  The fire stung his fingers, but he was able to endure the pain to prevent worse.  "Luthien!" he called to his companion.  "Run!  Get help!"

"I won't leave you!" Luthien responded, seizing her own weapon and leaping on to the wolf's back.  The pain of her Elven blade piercing its thick flesh caused the creature to howl in pain.  For a few seconds, it was distracted from the human, and turned its attention to the Elf maid with the small but bothersome weapon.

Luthien took several steps back, keeping her weapon hoisted and her eyes locked with the wolf's.  Beren recollected himself and grabbed his sword.  He drove the blade into the wolf's massive body.  It wheeled around, forgetting about the Elf and concentrating fully on the human.  Black blood mixed with fire oozed from its jaws, and it let out a vicious snarl before charging.

The wolf was on top of him once again.  Its fangs found flesh, and it tore open Beren's throat.  Luthien screamed in horror when she saw her love being slaughtered.  Mad from pain, she tightened her grip on the handle of her weapon and charged the wolf again.  She forced the blade into the flesh of its neck.  It howled and jerked to the side, causing Luthien to stumble backwards.  It began to rush her, but she was ready.

The blade of her weapon met flesh between the wolf's two fiery eyes, penetrating its full length.  It let out a cry and reared its neck.  The handle was yanked out of Luthien's hand, and she was left to face the demon without a physical weapon.  But she was an Elf, and like other Elves, she had been gifted with special powers.  She began to utter sacred words, and could feel the energy flowing through her fingers.  However, the wolf recovered before she could finish, and it lunged at her, taking her torso in its jaws.  The power left her, and she was helpless.

The wolf tossed its head and released Luthien from his mouth.  She flew through the air and landed several feet from Beren.  She struggled to sit up, a task that proved to be next to impossible.  Blood was flowing out from many wounds over her body, taking life with it.  Her pain was great, but she was not dead yet.  _Not dead yet_, Luthien told herself.  If she was going to die, then she was going to die fighting alongside her love.

Beren, surprised that he was still alive, cried out in pain as the wolf's claws ripped open the flesh of his chest.  It was about to take him in its jaws, but an arrow hit it in the neck.  The sudden pain distracted it, and the wolf let out an angry roar.  It turned to face this new enemy, but did not get very far, as another arrow in its neck caused it to fall back several feet.  Before it could recover, another arrow pierced its eye.

Luthien had closed the distance between her and Beren.  She laid his head in her lap, and tears streaming down from her face fell onto his and caused his eyes to open.  "Beren," she said, "don't leave me."

He gazed up at her longingly, then, with his dying breath whispered, "I love you."  Following his statement, his eyes closed, and his body went limp as all life left him.

Luthien could feel her own life slipping away from her, and the death of Beren did not help to ease her pain or aid her will to live.  "No…"

Five arrows later, the wolf slumped to the ground and lay still, dead at last.  Its slayer dropped his weapons and rushed over to Luthien and the lifeless Beren.  "Is he…"

Luthien nodded, but even that was an effort as her strength left her.  "I'm not going to make it, Celeborn," she said, her voice as weak as her body.

"Don't say that," Celeborn responded, reaching for her.  "You cannot leave us, Luthien."

Her head rolled to the side as she lost her strength to support it, and her body slumped over.  Celeborn caught her and pulled her toward him.  "It is over," Luthien said.  "My love is dead, and I shall be dead beside him before another minute has passed.  Good-bye, dear brother.  Good-bye."

He began to protest, but stopped when her body went limp.  Grief seized his heart and tears stung his eyes.  In a choked whisper, he spoke her name.  She did not respond.  His breathing quickened, and he was filled with feelings of helplessness and despair.  He was too slow.  If only he had gotten here sooner, he could have helped them.  He could have saved them.  But because he didn't get there in time, they were dead.

"Luthien?" he tried again, hoping that by some miracle she would be able to hear him.  "Beren?  No.  This can't be happening.  No…

"Luthiennnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!"


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

_*~* Three Years Later *~*_

It was the misty dawn of another autumn morning in Doriath, and a party of six Elves on horseback was making its way along a road winding through the forest.  The Elves were clad in the battle armor of Nargothrond and carried weapons, since these were dangerous times, but their mission to Doriath was in peace.  Nargothrond and Doriath had joined forces before in battles against the Enemy, and Raionuth, the young king of Nargothrond, felt the time was at hand to call upon their old allies.  The Enemy was weaker than he was at the beginning of the war, but he was still far stronger than any country could handle on their own.  That was the purpose of this company: to propose the alliance to Thingol, King of Doriath.

            The Elf named Elcaren urged his horse onward, and rode up to the head of the band.  A feeling of something sinister approaching them had been growing in his mind for some time now, and he felt it was his duty to report this fear to his leader.  "These woods are not safe," Elcaren said.  "There is presence of evil here."

            The leader, a grey-eyed, dark-haired Elf by the name of Ilidor, gave his subordinate a suspicious look.  "I feel nothing," Ilidor said.  "There is evil everywhere, Elcaren.  These woods are no exception to that.  The Enemy is strong, and his influence is widespread."

            A knot of frustration rose in Elcaren's stomach.  "I know," he said, "but it is greater here.  I believe we are in danger."

            Ilidor could detect the undertone of irritation and impatience in the younger Elf's voice, and his rigid face cracked into a small smile.  Elcaren still had much to learn of the ways of the world and how to control his feelings.  "We are soldiers of Nargothrond in a time of war," Ilidor replied, almost amused.  "When are we _not_ in danger?"

            Elcaren realized that his superior was not going to take him seriously, and his head drooped slightly with the discontent.  He gave up arguing and fell back into place, next to an Elf named Undonel.  Undonel said very little, and Elcaren didn't find him to be the best of company.  The other three members of their party, Artanel, Gelrec, and Telenir, all knew each other from previous events and were talking amongst themselves.  He longed to be back in Nargothrond, where he was a member of the royal guard.  All his friends were there, and he remembered how envious they were of him when he was handpicked by Raionuth himself.  _Some mission_, he thought.  _Five days on the road, and the only thing that's happened so far is this ridiculous feeling_.

            It _was_ ridiculous.  It had to be.  Why else would so wise and experienced a soldier as Ilidor dismiss it as nothing without a second thought?  Perhaps it was his imagination, longing for the excitement of battle, perhaps not.  At any rate, he had to stop dreaming about adventure if he ever hoped to become a great warrior.  They knew that you did not find adventure; it found you, and when it did, you wish it hadn't.

            Suddenly, Telenir pulled his horse to a stop and reached for his sword.  "Look out!" he shouted.

            Telenir's warning came too late.  As soon as the words left his lips, a horde of Orcs came running out of the woods, firing arrows at them.  Ilidor grabbed his sword and started to speak, but his orders were cut short when an Orc arrow pierced his heart.  He fell off his horse, but was not dead yet.  The Orcs were upon them now, and the leader of the party managed to kill about four of them before another arrow found his head, and all life left him.

            The others were faring no better.  Artanel had an arrow in his chest and three Orcs on top of him, stabbing him with their swords.  Within seconds, he was dead as well.  Gelrec and Elcaren were fighting back to back, but they were outnumbered.  The Orcs quickly overpowered them.  Elcaren's death was by a swift beheading, while Gelrec was killed by multiple stabbings to the chest area.

            Undonel and Telenir were the only ones left.  Undonel didn't say much, but he was a great fighter.  A good fifteen Orcs fell to his sword before an arrow pierced his side.  The pain was intense, but he couldn't stop.  Another arrow found his shoulder, and the blade of another Orc's sword skimmed across his chest.  It didn't penetrate deep enough to kill, but it still inflicted great damage anyway.  Undonel's guard fell just long enough for a third arrow to become lodged in his side, next to the first one.  Defeated, the warrior slumped to the ground and was no longer aware of the world around him.

            Telenir, the one who had issued the warning, had held out longer than any of them, but he could see that his end was near.  He sliced the head off of one Orc, then drove his blade deep into the chest of another.  The ground was littered with bodies, about twelve Orcs for each of the five Elves, but they still kept coming.  An arrow found his chest, and he stumbled backwards.  There had to be at least a hundred of them still out there.  There was no way an injured Elf could expect to fight them all and live.

            Suddenly, the Orcs hesitated, and a murmur ran through their numbers.  Telenir spied the opening and took it, slicing off the heads of three Orcs with one blow.  An Orc in the distance fired an arrow at him, and it hit him in the heart.  Then, they began to do the last thing he expected them to: run away.

            Telenir's dying eyes looked for what had scared the Orcs, expecting it to be some great demon or other equally terrible thing.  Instead, he saw what appeared to be an Elf., but unlike any Elf he had ever seen.  He had come out of nowhere, as if he was some supernatural protector of the forest.  He certainly looked the part.  He was clad in white and silver, and his hair was nearly as white as his clothing.  In his hands he held two short swords, slightly wavy in the manner of the Elvish design.  Orcs were falling left and right to his blows, and it was obvious they feared him.  Telenir was sure he was witnessing the appearance of a divine being.

            However, the forest's guardian was too late to save the party of Elves.  The last thing Telenir saw before succumbing to his injuries was the horde of Orcs running away in fear.

            Seeing that the Orcs were not going to put up a fight, Celeborn put his Elven blades back into their sheaths and watched the vile creatures scamper back into the woods.  They feared him greatly.  They had lost more of their numbers to him alone in the last few years than most of the battles they fought in the war.  He was known among them as the Orc-killer, and they knew they stood no chance when he came along.

            His eyes fell upon the party of Elves nearby, and his heart sank.  He was too late.  Once again, he had been too slow to save anyone.  The memory of the day Luthien and Beren were killed by the demonic wolf came back to him, and the agony of the guilt was so great he could hardly remain standing.  Celeborn forced himself to push the thought aside, and began jogging to where the six elven bodies lay in the road.  It was a long shot, but there was still the off chance that one of them survived the massacre.

            As he approached them, though, all optimism faded from his heart.  The Orcs had been more thorough than usual, and the odds that someone still lived were slim to none.  Nevertheless, he began to check the bodies.  They were soldiers of Nargothrond; he recognized the uniforms. The first three he checked were all dead.  _It's hopeless_, he told himself.  _I was too slow_.  _They're all dead_.

            Just then, he heard a soft moan behind him.  At first, he thought it was an Orc, but then realized that it was, in fact, an Elf.  Hope surged in his heart.  He hurdled over the bodies of several Orcs before reaching the Elf that had made the sound.  Celeborn cringed when he saw him; he had two arrows in his side and another in the shoulder.  It was a wonder he was still alive, but he wouldn't be for long.

            Celeborn could not heal him here.  He would have to be taken back to his home, more than a mile away.  There, he could start treatment, if his patient didn't die on the way over.  Carefully, he picked him up, surprised at how light he was.  This had to be the smallest and most delicately built of all the warriors there, and yet he was the only one who survived.  There had to be more to this one than met the eye.

            He held the fallen warrior as tightly as he could, then began to move at a rapid pace through the forest.  There was not a minute to lose.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Celeborn entered his small, one-room hut located deep in the forest and set the Elf down on his bed.  He was amazed to find his patient still alive after all this time.  Maybe he was not totally beyond saving, after all.  If he expected to save him, though, he had to move quickly.  He started a fire, and put a pot filled with water over it to boil.  Once that was going, he made his way over to his medicine cabinet, where he kept various plants and herbs that could be used for remedial purposes.  He always had great skill in healing, and over the last three years, it was one of two skills he had trained himself to the point of mastery.

            While the water boiled, he set to making a poultice of athelas and ubolen.  He discovered the remedy himself about two years ago, when he had been shot by Orcs and was out of the usual thing he mixed with athelas, hemlas leaves.  He was a mighty warrior, but even he did not escape every battle unscathed.  The two plants, when mixed with water, made a paste that stopped infection and accelerated recovery time.

            He spent a few minutes grinding the athelas and ubolen into powder, then set them aside.  Next he got out some felinor, which he would add to water to use as a cleaning and sterilizing agent.  There was nothing he could do about treating the wounds until the arrows were out.  His patient was still unconscious, but Celeborn didn't want to take the chance of him waking up in the process.  He would be in enough pain as it was.  Nentos and vendren roots made a good anesthetic.  He didn't have any vendren with him, but he knew where some grew nearby.  By the time he got back, the water should be done boiling.

            Celeborn glanced momentarily at the Elf from Nargothrond.  He was still unconscious, and breathing, but with difficulty.  "Hang on," Celeborn said, even though he knew the warrior couldn't hear him.  "I'm not going to let you die."

            He hurried outside, then jogged through the woods until he reached the spot where vendren grew.  It was at the edges of a small clearing, at the base of a large tree.  He knelt down and pulled several shoots of the plant up.  Vendren was good for more than its roots; the stem, when boiled and added to tea, could cure headaches, and the leaves helped accelerate the healing of insect stings.  All in all, it was a very valuable plant, and he found it hard to believe he could have run out without realizing it.

            Celeborn made his way back to the hut with the vendren.  The water was not yet boiling, but was close.  That would give him time to separate the roots from the rest of the plant, grind them up, and add them to the nentos.  He selected a bowl from his collection and set to grinding the vendren.  By the time he was finished, the water was at a full boil.  He set the bowl containing the nentos and vendren down, then went over to the fire and brought the pot over to the table.  He put water in the bowl with the athelas and ubolen first – it had to be made into a thick paste and took longer to set.  He poured more water into the nentos and vendren, and finally, added the remaining amount to the bowl containing the felinor.  When the pot was empty, he put cold water in it and put it back on the fire.  It was almost a guarantee that he would need more water later.

            The nentos and vendren mixture was ready almost immediately.  He could begin his work.  Celeborn picked up the bowl and walked over to his injured companion.  He knelt down next to the bed and began to assess what had to be done.  The arrows looked like they went deep.  Removing them would be painful for the Nargothrondian, conscious or not, so he was glad he took the time to make the anesthetic.  The tunic he wore would have to be removed; there was no way the wounds could be treated properly otherwise.  He ripped away a piece of bloodstained cloth near the two arrows in his side – and froze.

            His patient was not male.  It was a woman, wearing the uniform of a Nargothrond soldier to disguise herself as a warrior.  That explained why he noticed a smaller and more delicate build than the typical soldier.  It was because she was a woman.

            Woman or not, she still needed to be treated, so he continued to tear away cloth.  He ripped away the section surrounding the arrows.  There was still a circle pinned to her by the arrows, but he could get around that problem.  Celeborn gently pulled the fabric up the shafts of the two arrows until he had enough room to apply the anesthetic.  Blood was oozing from the wounds, but they could not be cleaned just yet.  Removing the arrows was the most important thing right now.

            He dipped his fingers into the anesthetic and rubbed a thin layer on her skin.  It would numb the nerve cells and enable him to pull the arrows out without it being as uncomfortable for her.  It would still hurt, but this would ease the pain.

            While he waited for the anesthetic to set in, Celeborn returned his attention to the athelas and ubolen mixture.  It was thickening, and he spent a few minutes mixing it.  It was almost ready.  By the time the arrows were out, it would be.  He returned to the woman, taking that and the felinor cleansing solution with him.

            Whether or not the anesthetic had kicked in yet, he did not have time to ponder.  He placed one of his hands on the shaft of an arrow and the other on her stomach, to prevent any involuntary twitching from the pain.  Slowly, he pulled the arrow out.  She moved, but because he was holding her stationary, it didn't impede the removal of the arrow.  The shaft was three inches into her body.  He was surprised that it didn't hit any major organs.  Something was on their side.

            One arrow was out.  He set to the task of removing the other.  Again, she twitched, but he was able to hold her down.  This arrow wasn't as deep as the other, but it came dangerously close to her kidney.  The next objective was to clean the wound and apply the athelas mixture.  He dipped a soft, clean cloth into the felinor solution, then rubbed it over the gashes.  It took the caked blood right off, revealing the smooth, pale skin beneath it.  He continued to clean the area until all the blood was removed, then reached for the athelas and ubolen.

            The woman twitched violently when the paste touched her skin.  Celeborn expected this, and it took both hands to hold her down.  Athelas and ubolen was an excellent remedy, but it stung like fire.  Once she was still again, he continued to apply the mixture.  She spasmed again, but the convulsions were not as intense.

            Now that the wound was cleaned and sterilized, he could move on to the other arrow in her shoulder.  Before doing that, though, he took some more cloth and wrapped it around her several times, covering the gashes from the arrows and preventing airborne germs from entering.  On to the final arrow.

            Celeborn performed the same process on the arrow in her shoulder.  Her body cooperated more this time, barely moving at all, even when he applied the athelas and ubolen.  For a few seconds, he was afraid she had died, but his fear passed when he saw that she had just stopped resisting and was subconsciously allowing him to treat her.  She did not awaken, but she was breathing, and her body was warm to the touch.  Perhaps she was not beyond saving after all.

            Two days passed, and her condition remained stable.  She did not regain consciousness, but Celeborn grew to believe that she would soon.  In the meantime, he had been preparing every remedy he knew and was using it on her, with favorable results.  While he was treating her, he began to wonder if the sedative effects of pelenel roots combined with the anesthetic qualities of nentos would be an effective medication that would numb as it put the patient to sleep.  That would cut down on the time it took to clean and dress an individual wound or perform minor surgery.  He didn't dare try it on the woman, though.  He never experimented with any new medications on anyone but himself.  His own life, he could bear to lose, but not someone else's.  He was responsible for too many deaths as it was.

            Celeborn was sitting at the table and was nearly finished with making a fresh batch of athelas and ubolen poultice when a voice like the clear ringing of silver bells captured his attention.  "What happened?"

            He turned around.  The woman was sitting up in the bed and looking around the room.  Her deep blue eyes held a look of confusion as she tried to figure out where she was.  The perplexed looked changed to one of alarm when she spotted Celeborn, and she almost jumped.  "Who are you?  What's going on?"

            "Hold still," Celeborn told her, standing up and walking over to the bed holding the poultice.  "You are not yet well."  He sat down next to the bed and set the bowl in his lap.  "Your party was attacked by Orcs.  I was passing by and witnessed the attack.  I managed to scare away the Orcs, but I am afraid that I was too late to save anyone else."

            "I thought I was dead," she said.

            "So did I," he replied.  "What were you doing out there in the woods, anyway?"

            "I am an ambassador of Nargothrond," she answered.  "We were bringing a message to King Thingol."

            Celeborn nodded and turned his eyes to the bowl in his hand.  The mixture was not yet completely blended, so he set to the task of finishing it.  "Yes, I recognized your uniform, but why were you with them?  I didn't think diplomatic envoys in times of war would include women.  No offense, of course, but-"

            "None taken," she interrupted.  "I was tired of just sitting around.  I disguised myself as a male and joined their party.  I am Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin, and sister to Finrod, former King of Nargothrond."

            She paused, as if waiting for him to say something.  When he didn't respond, she said, "Well, aren't you going to tell me who you are?"

            His attention was more focused on mixing the poultice than her words, and he almost didn't hear her.  "Teleporno," he answered, giving her his rarely-used High-elven name for no reason at all.

            Galadriel blinked, and stared at him in confusion.  "That's it?" she said.  "That's all there is?  Where do you come from?  What is your lineage?"

            He didn't answer.  The poultice was finished, he decided.  "Lie down," he instructed.

            "I don't even know who you are," she responded.  "What authority do you have over me?"

            Celeborn arched an eyebrow and looked directly at her.  "You may be conscious, but your wounds are far from healed, and if you expect to recover, I suggest you cooperate with me.  Understand?"

            Galadriel was obviously more than a little irritated with him, but she complied, laying back down again.  Celeborn removed the bloodstained bandage on her side first, and set the bowl on the bed so it was within easy reach for application.  "This is athelas and ubolen," he explained.  "I'm going to put it on you.  It's going to hurt, a lot, but it keeps the wound from getting infected."

            She spoke no verbal response, but nodded her head.  That was all the confirmation he needed.

            Celeborn dipped his fingers into the mixture, then touched them to the spot where the two arrows had pierced her skin.  It made a sizzling sound when it came in contact with her flesh.  Galadriel nearly cried out with the pain, but managed to suppress it.  She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and held her breath until the excruciating sensation passed.  About twenty seconds went by, and she relaxed.

            "How are you feeling?" he asked.

            "Fine," she answered meekly.

            The left corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a half-smile.  "You're lying."

            "Of course I'm lying.  What did you want me to say?  I'm in so much pain that I would rather die than endure another minute of this torture?"

            "Not exactly what I had in mind, but it works."  He applied more of the poultice to her wound.

            Galadriel wasn't expecting this to happen, and the sudden sting caught her off guard.  She let out a shriek of agony.  Her face was twisted in the expression of one in pain; eyes squeezed tightly shut, teeth clenched, and skin flushed.  When the throbbing passed, she noticed the amused smile on Celeborn's face, and narrowed her eyes at him.  "Are you enjoying this?"

            Celeborn nodded and reached for a fresh set of bandages.

            "When my irritation with you passes, remind me to thank you for saving my life."

            "That won't be necessary."

            "And why not?"

            "You were hurt," he said.  "I was near.  I did only what anyone else would have."

            Her eyes narrowed.  "'Anyone else'?" she repeated.  "I don't think 'anyone else' would even be out here in the first place.  Just who are you, anyway?"

            Celeborn didn't know how to answer.  He couldn't tell her who he was.  His days as a warrior of Doriath were over.  He wasn't that person anymore.  How could he tell her the answer to her question when he didn't even know it himself?  "I am who I am," he finally said.  "That is all you need to know."

            She was about to respond, but he spoke before she could.  "You must rest now," he said.  "You need to recover your strength."

            He stood and walked over to his medicine cabinet.  Galadriel watched him for a few moments as he busied himself with his herbs and remedies.  She could tell he was hiding something, and that his secrets would not be revealed willingly.  Why else would he be so shadowy and reluctant when it came to his identity?

            However mysterious her rescuer was, Galadriel knew he was right.  She had been hurt badly, and rest was vital to her recovery.  No matter what he said, though, she knew she owed him her life.  That point could be argued later.  She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

            When Galadriel woke the next morning, Celeborn was nowhere to be seen.  She lifted her head off the pillow it was resting on and looked around.  The hut was small, and consisted of only one room, so it wasn't like there were many places he could hide.  Just then, the door opened, and in walked the very object of her wonderings.  He was carrying a handful of a small green shrub, and she assumed that was what he had been doing.  Just the same, though, she decided to make an inquiry.  If nothing else, it would get him talking, and maybe then she could find out more about him.  "What is that?" she asked.

            "Tersen," he answered.  "It has excellent healing properties, and when made into a tea, can help with internal bleeding."  Before he went out, he had placed a pot with water over the fire, and after he set the tersen down, went over to the fire to check it.  The water was warm, but not quite hot enough for making the tea yet.  "The catch is it has to be collected fresh every day, and sometimes, it cannot be found easily."

            "How do you know so much about healing?"

            "My foundation in the healing arts came from instruction by a master, and the rest I have acquired through personal experience," he answered, trying to be as vague as possible.

            "Who instructed you?"

            He didn't answer.

            Galadriel placed her right hand on the bedframe and started to push herself up, but Celeborn saw her motion and spoke against it.  "That's a bad idea," he said.

            "Why?" she asked, and continued to lift her torso.  Suddenly, her face twisted into a painful grimace, and she had to hold her breath to keep from crying out.

            Celeborn sighed and nodded.  "That's why.  Don't move."

            "Why?" she asked again through clenched teeth, not daring to breathe.

            Celeborn walked over to the bed and knelt down beside it.  "Give me your left hand," he instructed.

            Galadriel shot him a suspicious look and did not move.

            She was starting to annoy him.  "Do you want me to help you or not?" Celeborn asked, nearing the end of his patience.  "Give me your left hand."

            Slowly, so as to be as painless as possible, Galadriel lifted her left arm and reached across her body.  Celeborn took her hand and, sandwiching the joint just below her middle knuckle between his thumb and forefinger, applied gentle, but firm pressure.  With his free hand, he placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her back down to a laying position.  Once she was all the way down, he let go.

            "How did you do that?" Galadriel asked.  "There was no pain at all."

            "It's a pressure point," he explained.  "In Noldor, it numbs pain receptors in the brain for a period of about ten seconds when constant pressure is applied."

            Her azure eyes narrowed suspiciously at him.  "How did you know I am Noldor?"

            "I first suspected it when I saw that your clothing had the markings of Nargothrond," he began.  "I knew you had some Noldor blood in you when I treated your arrow wounds.  Every race's blood flows a little differently.  There was hardly any when I took the arrows out.  Some of that came as a result of the medicine I applied, but not enough for me to think you were another race.  My suspicions were eventually confirmed when you told me your name."

            This news seemed to startle her.  "You know who I am?" she stammered.

            "Everyone knows who you are, Princess Galadriel," he replied.  "It's common knowledge.  You are as famous as Luthien."  He almost added, "and just as beautiful," but stopped himself just in time.  The Lady was indeed beautiful, but he didn't want to let on that he thought so.  That would further dampen the objectivity of their relationship, probably for the worse.

            Galadriel's ears perked up at the mention of Luthien.  She noticed that he spoke her name with an undertone of fondness, and she wondered if there was any connection.  "Did you know Luthien?"

            Celeborn's heart nearly skipped a beat.  Why, oh why, did he have to mention Luthien?  If Galadriel knew how close he had been to Luthien, she would surely figure out why he fled Doriath.  "No," he said, his voice firm and closing.  "I saw her once, about twelve years ago, but only from a distance."

            "You're lying."

            He was, but he didn't say so.  Instead, he stood up and walked over to the fire.  He checked the water.  It was almost ready to make the tea.  It would be hot enough by the time he finished chopping up the tersen.  He placed the herb on his chopping board, then reached for his knife.

            Galadriel was getting angry.  He was hiding something, and she wanted to know what.  She suspected it had something to do with Luthien.  She didn't believe him at all when he said he didn't know her.  "Don't turn away from me," she said.  "What are you hiding?"

            "I am hiding nothing," he lied, trying to focus enough attention on his work to avoid hearing her.

            It didn't work.  He heard her next statement clear as day.  "You are lying to me, Teleporno, if that is indeed your real name," she said.

            Celeborn had no patience left.  He stood up and faced her, his eyes like flaming daggers and his voice equally harsh.  "What do you want from me?" he nearly yelled.  "I've told you everything you need to know.  That should be enough for you!"

            "Who are you?" she demanded.  "What are you doing out here?"

            "What's it to you?"

            "I want to know who you are."

            He shook his head.  "Not good enough."  He walked over to the fire, took the pot away from the flame, and carried it over to the table.  He placed the chopped-up tersen into a sieve, then let the herb seep into the water.  "I helped you in your time of need.  The best way you can thank me is to leave when you are healthy and forget you ever saw me."

            Now she was getting somewhere.  For some reason, he didn't seem to want to let the outside world know he was alive.  Galadriel meant to do the opposite of what he requested, and ask about him when she finally got to Menegroth.  "How could I forget you that easily?" she asked.  "I owe you my life."

            "You owe me nothing.  We've had this conversation."

            "Why can't you just tell me who you are?"

            "You wouldn't understand."  He poured some of the tea into a cup and carried it over to her.  His level of rage hadn't dropped any, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep it inside him, as he was doing now.  "Drink this," he instructed, holding the cup up to her lips.

            Celeborn tilted the cup, and she drank the hot liquid.  It was almost too hot, but she didn't point that out.  When the cup was drained, he headed for the door.

            "Where are you going?" she inquired.

            "What are you, my wife?" he asked angrily.  "It is no business of yours to know where I am going."

            Galadriel sensed that she was the reason he was leaving and that he couldn't stand to be in her presence anymore.  She knew her comments about Luthien earlier struck a nerve, and she decided to bring the topic up again in case he might subconsciously drop any more hints about who he was.  "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

            "About what?" he said in an irritated tone of voice.

            "About Luthien," she replied.  "Surely _you_ must know she died three years ago."

            That did it.  He could no longer stand this treatment.  Never in his life had someone's comments hurt him so deeply.  Her patronizing remark about his knowledge of Luthien's death made him feel like his heart had been torn out.  "Yes, Luthien is dead!" he yelled.  "She's dead and it's my fault!  You can die, too, for all I care!"

            Without another word, he stormed out of the hut, leaving a befuddled Galadriel behind.


End file.
